


from here to eternity

by jinkandtherebels



Series: from here to eternity [1]
Category: Naruto
Genre: M/M, canon AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-16
Updated: 2013-12-16
Packaged: 2018-01-04 19:36:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 19,625
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1084919
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jinkandtherebels/pseuds/jinkandtherebels
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Timing is everything, especially when it comes to falling in love. Too bad Itachi and Shisui's timing is completely off.</p>
            </blockquote>





	from here to eternity

**Author's Note:**

> Written for bitter_nakano's 2010 ItaShi Summer Exchange. I guess this one's getting old, but I'm still fond of it.

**from here to eternity**

**..**

Shisui first meets Itachi at the wedding of his mother to Itachi’s uncle.

The marriage takes place on the eve of the Third Great Ninja War. It’s a match made out of convenience; strife has been brewing between nations for some time now, and many sense that things are reaching the boiling point, if they have not already done so. Soon-to-be Uchiha Uruchi chose to save herself and her son by becoming something like a mail-order bride, instead of trying her luck with immigration services as so many others have done. It is only because of Whirlpool’s good relations with Konoha that she even had this chance at all.

Of course, Shisui understands none of this at his age.

He does, however, notice the small boy sitting across the aisle after the ceremony is over. He hasn’t seen anyone else near his age since arriving, so this long-haired boy stands out.

The boy looks up and gives him a look that might be read as disapproval on an older face. As Shisui is currently enjoying a mouthful of frosting swiped from the nearby wedding cake, this is understandable. But in Shisui’s six-year-old mind, committing harmless acts of illegality together makes for lasting friendship, so he beckons to the other boy-silently noting how _tiny_ he is; can’t be older than four-in a blatant ‘ _Join me!_ ’ gesture.

The boy turns away.

Frowning, Shisui starts waving his arms more wildly. This, too, is studiously ignored.

The only acceptable response to such a slight, he decides, is to bolt across the aisle and shove a handful of cake in the little twerp’s face.

Naturally.

Later, after he has been properly scolded by his embarrassed mother and ordered to help the boy-who is now his cousin, apparently-clean himself up, Shisui decides to forgive him and let bygones be bygones. After all, life is going to be awfully boring in his new home if he doesn’t have a single friend nearby.

He makes his move while they’re attempting to figure out how one goes about removing chocolate mousse from one’s hair.

“Shisui,” he introduces himself without preamble.

Dark eyes blink up at him from beneath thick, frosting-coated lashes.

“Itachi,” is the solemn response.

It is possibly shaping up to be one of those moments you see in the flashbacks of Happier Times in the minds of misunderstood heroes. At least until little Itachi calmly wipes the mess on his hands off on Shisui’s shirt, Shisui yanks on his hair in retaliation, and all hell breaks loose.

**..**

The war starts less than a month after.

Nearly everyone of age is called to the battlefields. They leave in droves; shinobi to fight, civilians to help the medics fix up the fighters that don’t die so they can go out and do things properly the second time. Children too young for fighting are herded together and placed in group homes, in order to avoid adding kids with no idea yet how to care for themselves to the casualty list.

Shisui watches his mother leave with an expression carved from stone. He might not be a genius, but even he knows that just because Uruchi is a civilian it doesn’t make her safe. Doesn’t even make her close to safe, because bombs and enemies don’t discriminate.

He wonders if it’s better or worse for Itachi, whose entire family-both parents, cousins (all but one, of course), uncles, everything-is out at war. All Shisui knows of his own father is that the man was out of the picture even before his birth, and Uruchi’s relations with her own family were less than stellar. As it is, his mother is his world. She’s the only real family he has.

Excluding his cousin, anyway, and Itachi doesn’t seem to be handling the situation well either. On their first day as official pseudo-orphans he picks a corner of their assigned group home, sits in it, stares straight ahead, and stays there.

Shisui worries, but figures Itachi won’t be able to keep it up for long and goes for some food. When he finishes and returns to the main room, Itachi is still there.

Eventually the older kids in charge start setting out futons. When the first shift of their night watch starts, the order comes for lights out. Shisui picks the futon nearest to his still-unmoving cousin and eventually falls asleep. When he wakes up, Itachi is still doing his stone gargoyle impersonation (a small, rather unthreatening gargoyle sans wings, horns or tail, but still).

After three days of the same thing, when Shisui is tired of worrying whether or not Itachi’s died sitting up, tired of having to prod the boy with his foot to get so much as a blink in response, tired of waking up to a look of cold latent terror that just doesn’t belong on the face of a four-year-old, he decides to take matters into his own hands.

He plops down on the floor, pastes a smile on his face, and shoves a bowl of soup under Itachi’s nose.

“Eat it,” he orders.

Itachi’s glance flickers briefly in his cousin’s direction before returning to the opposing wall. “No, thank you.”

“Eat it,” Shisui repeats.

Itachi frowns. “I said no thank you.”

“I don’t care,” is the purposely cheerful reply. “My mom always says you’ll get sick if you don’t eat.”

“I am not hungry.”

“Too bad.” At his cousin’s slightly startled look, Shisui grins. “My mom always says that, too.”

There’s a sigh. “Please leave me alone, Shisui-nii.”

“Nope. Not ‘til you eat.” He waves the bowl around under Itachi’s face as if trying to hypnotize him.

“I don’t-”

“ _Eeeat iiit_.”

Itachi gives up.

Cheered by his own victory, Shisui continues to talk. He focuses strictly on one subject: Whirlpool. He tells Itachi about the rippling blue waves that surround his home village. He chatters about the long lives people there tend to live, and about a man he once knew who was over a hundred years old. He talks about the sights and the smells and all of the things that made Uzushiogakure _home_.

“We’ll probably go back once the war’s over,” he says after a while. “Just to visit. It’ll be really nice to see it again.”

A few days later, news comes of the Whirlpool Village’s destruction. Only a handful of its residents have survived, and most of them have already scattered.

When Shisui hears of his beloved home’s annihilation, he hides in the back of a dark storage closet and sobs. Days go by like that, during which he screams away any of the older ones who try to comfort him.

Later, Shisui will look back on those horrible early days and remember nothing of the world outside his own head-save for a small hand placing itself uncertainly but resolutely on the small of his back.

**..**

The most brutal war in anyone’s memory is also the shortest. But not nearly short enough.

The battles press deeper into Konoha than anyone expected. A radical group of Rain shinobi, acting against orders (so it is said, anyway), find a weak spot in the defenses of Konoha’s outer wall-Shisui will never know how-and attack.

Leaf is more empty than not at this point, with most out on the field trying desperately to keep the war moving in Konoha’s favor. This gives the enemies fewer targets when they breach the wall, but also causes their first target to be hit hard.

Shisui’s eyes open in the middle of that night to meet Itachi’s. _So the noise wasn’t a dream_ , he realizes. Sitting up and looking around, he sees the small group of young Chunin that look after them moving around swiftly and silently. One disappears and returns with an armful of weapons. Two start waking up the other children while the rest choose hiding places.

Cold sweat snaking down his back, Shisui is wriggling out from under his thick blanket and is motioning for Itachi to do the same when the back windows and front doors are simultaneously smashed. Shinobi with ventilated masks enter the room like something out of a nightmare and in the time it takes for one of the Chunin’s throats to be slit, Shisui and Itachi have already frozen and unfrozen.

Shisui grabs his friend’s wrist and yanks, half-dragging him down the hall and toward the door that leads to the underground shelters. The sounds of screaming and dying hit their ears with vicious clarity; the smell of blood is enough to make them gag; still, they keep moving.

The door is feet away when the Rain nin detaches himself from the shadows to step in their path. And the next few seconds pass in a haze of terror, at what feels like unnatural speed: One moment the enemy is raising the kunai that will add their names to the list of the dead, and the next he is falling back with a throwing star embedded deeply in his forehead. Blood spurts from the wound and spatters both of them with red. A drop of it lands on his tongue and then Shisui is on all fours, vomiting his guts out. Itachi sits perfectly still as the reinforcements move to check up on them, eyes not moving from the dead man lying less than a foot away.

**..**

The short of it is that the fighting ends, the lucky children go back to what remains of their families, and neither cousin speaks for a month and a half.

When they do, however, it’s to each other. And the conversation is surprisingly low-key:

“How’re you doing, squirt?”

“…I am not a squirt.”

“Sure you are, squirt.”

“…”

**..**

Life goes on, and years go by.

Itachi graduates from the academy in an unheard-of single year, not even eight years old. Shisui follows suit two years after, and they take the Chunin Exams together. They come out of it promoted and alive, Shisui having created the beginnings of a new technique and nearly destroyed his legs in the process; Itachi with scarlet eyes that the exams have given him a crash course in properly controlling.

“You know,” Shisui remarks afterward, “we’re probably studs now. Chunin at our age? The girls are gonna be all over us.”

“I find it both bizarre and disturbing that you seem to consider that a good thing.”

“Oh yeah, I forgot.” The older boy rolls his eyes and gives a long-suffering sigh. “You’re still a shrimp. You can’t understand the wonders of girls yet.”

“May I point out,” Itachi replies delicately, “that this ‘shrimp’ is almost as tall as you are?”

“ _Almost_. There’s still an inch and a half between you and me.” He shifts in his hospital bed to give his cousin a look of relish. “Therefore, I still have every right to call you a shrimp, or a squirt, or any number of other creative nicknames for _short_.”

Itachi’s expression doesn’t change, but he puts into his next statement every ounce of threat that a ten-year-old can possess.

“ _I_ can still move around on my own. _You_ are bedridden, and as such would be unable to move if someone decided to pour ice water on you in the night.”

Shisui takes the (not so subtle) hint, and the size jokes cease. At least until he can walk again.

**..**

When they are thirteen and fifteen, the news of Itachi’s induction into ANBU comes to Shisui like one of its members-silently sneaking up behind him, its presence known only after it is too late.

“You’re _thirteen_!” he yells when they’re alone, as if Itachi isn’t perfectly aware of that fact already. “You’ll get eaten alive!”

“You don’t give me enough credit, Shisui-nii,” the younger boy replies placidly. “I am more than capable of taking care of myself.”

And as much as he wants to, he knows that there really isn’t any arguing with that. Shisui throws his hands up in frustration and turns to leave. But there’s one more thing to say, something that seems suddenly relevant.

“You can drop the ‘-nii’, you know,” he mutters. “You _are_ pretty good at watching your own back. You don’t need a big brother.” Actually, he isn’t sure if Itachi ever did.

Itachi is quiet. The silence of both the forest and his friend rings in Shisui’s ears.

“Maybe you’re right,” the former says eventually. “Maybe I do not need a ‘big brother’.” There is an almost thoughtful pause; Itachi’s next words are so soft that Shisui very nearly misses them.

“A friend is another matter entirely.”

**..**

Shisui joins the police force a month later. While most of the others are stick-in-the-mudlike in typical Uchiha fashion, there are a few fellow rookies that he gets along with well enough. Being on the force is the most at home he’s felt within the compound since…well, pretty much forever.

Newbies always get a raw and heavy deal when it comes to office and field work; it’s an accepted fact within almost any organization. As such, Shisui doesn’t even know four weeks have passed until he wakes up from one of his many naps on the desk and happens to see the date on one of many pieces of paperwork he’s expected to take care of.

His first half-asleep thought is an attempt to think of something less cliché than ‘Time flies’. The attempt fails.

His second thought is, _Huh…wonder if Itachi’s gotten himself stabbed yet._

The kid isn’t at home, as it turns out, but his eight-year-old brother is. And said brother worships Itachi far too much to be so calm if anything had happened, so Shisui relaxes a little.

“Hey, Sasuke,” he greets. “Where’s your brother?”

Sasuke shrugs. “Out,” he replies. “Nii-san’s always out now.”

It’s a predictable response. Busyness, obviously, comes with the territory of being ANBU. Especially if one is moving up in the ranks, as he has no doubt Itachi’s doing.

The river is where they always met as kids, to train or play. It’s where Shisui goes whenever he wants to clear his head, and it’s his best guess as to where Itachi might be outside of ANBU headquarters. If he’s on duty, there’s no way Shisui will be able to get to him.

As hoped, Itachi is sitting on the riverbank. He’s obviously lost in his own head.

“’Sup?” Shisui asks casually.

Itachi blinks and looks up. “Hello, Shisui.”

The lack of honorific should feel more blatant than it does. Shisui finds he actually likes it. It’s like a gap is being bridged.

He sits down next to his cousin and eyes him carefully. Itachi has already withdrawn again, and it’s not difficult to guess why. War was a hideous reality, even for noncombatants; while ANBU life can’t possibly compare to that, Shisui suspects it’s merely another brand of darkness. Executions, assassinations (although that bit can’t be too different from what they had to do as regular shinobi, anyway), torture and interrogation…it’s the worst possible career choice for someone like Itachi, who’d gone pacifist after the third war. Shisui knows he only chose the ninja life out of loyalty to his village and the hope that he could somehow make the world safer by doing so.

It’s a naïve dream for a shinobi to have. But if it helped Itachi sleep better at night, then Shisui was all for it. Now, however, it looks as though Itachi is realizing how impossible a goal he set for himself.

For a long time, there is silence. Silence broken only by the calming sound of rushing river water, which eventually gives Shisui an idea.

“Remember when we used to swim here all the time?” he asks softly. “Heck, we _learned_ to swim here.”

Itachi nods.

“We should pick up the habit again,” Shisui continues. “I kinda miss it. I know we’re supposed to act like ‘mature adults’ and everything now, but still…” He grins. “It’s not like anybody has to know.”

When Itachi doesn’t say anything, Shisui nudges him. “C’mon. We should totally swim.”

 _That_ gets a reaction. Itachi looks at Shisui as if the latter has just sprouted an extra eyeball. “It is the middle of autumn,” he points out slowly, as if trying to explain something to a small child. Shisui rolls his eyes.

“After everything we’ve been through, you’re scared of a little pneumonia?” he snorts. “Come on.”

“No.”

“Don’t be such a _girl_ , ‘tachi.”

Itachi’s eye twitches slightly. “I do not feel like swimming.”

“Too bad,” Shisui retorts. The conversation is starting to sound somewhat reminiscent of another one, one carried out years earlier, one immediately followed by nothing except bad memories. And the last thing Shisui wants to do now is drag those up, so he distracts himself. That is to say, he puts a friendly hand on Itachi’s back and shoves him unceremoniously into the water.

The resulting splash is endlessly satisfying.

“How’s the water?” he asks nonchalantly once his friend surfaces, spitting out water. The glare Itachi sends his way would have him six feet under if looks could kill, and such an expression coming from a soaked, thoroughly unthreatening, normally composed teenager is too hilarious not to laugh at.

So he does. He laughs, and he laughs, and the irritation slowly melts off of Itachi’s face to be replaced with something vaguely like tolerant affection.

“To answer your question,” he says coolly, “it is freezing.”

“Perfect,” Shisui responds. Without further ado he pulls his shirt over his head and cannonballs into the water, making sure he’s in close enough proximity to douse Itachi upon impact.

The next couple of hours are spent in a haze of splashing water, sunlight peeking tentatively out from behind thick clouds, drip-drying and shivering on the grass and basking in the glory of feeling, just for a short time, like children once more.

**..**

One year after that extraordinarily peaceful autumn, Shisui thinks about it and figures he’s been through the worst of what life can throw at him. He’s survived the Third Great Ninja War and a demon’s attack on the village; he’s passed the Chunin Exams and gotten through over a year’s worth of time on the police force; he-along with the rest of the clan-has dodged a massive bullet that aimed for their future, and done so simply through diplomacy between Uchiha and Konoha. He’s survived sixteen years of life, most of those as a shinobi, and done so with his family and sanity-for the most part-intact. So yes, he feels that the biggest hurdles have been overcome.

One year after that observation, he learns his assumption was wrong. And that truth paints itself on an anvil and pounds straight onto his head with a smile.

A “friendly competition” between villages is announced by the Third Hokage sometime around Shisui’s seventeenth birthday. Konoha will play host; shinobi from all around the world will be invited to participate and bring honor to their teachers and homes.

Of course, there is a political reasoning to the Third’s openness. Once more, tension is materializing between villages; the buildup has been slow but very steady. Shisui sees this tension, this fear, reflected in the eyes of every single person in Konoha-the eyes of the Hokage, the eyes of his mother, the eyes of Itachi. And he worries.

The competition is well intended, but the result is disastrous. Sand, revealing a previously unheard of relation with Sound, attacks from within to try and bring Konoha down. The immediate threat is crushed once shock wears off, but the repercussions are obvious and unavoidable.

Clan heads and important figures within Konoha are called to the Hokage’s office. Those in the Uchiha compound wait, breath bated, for Fugaku to return with the news they already know.

He makes the full announcement in a little less than two minutes. Itachi’s father is always blunt, but even if he had dragged matters out and dressed them in pretty words, the bottom line would still be the same. A single, sickening word.

War.

Shisui’s ears turn off as soon as that fatal word leaves his uncle’s mouth. All of his senses seem to turn off, actually, leaving him a numb and empty shell.

When Fugaku finishes and the crowd begins to drift apart, Shisui blinks and realizes Itachi is gone.

He knows where he’ll be. There is no other place either of them would go to try and figure things out, but this is far too big for fixing. No; in this case, the Nakano is a safe haven for one to break down.

Shisui enters the woods and makes his way to the river. His steps are clumsy, awkward and loud; a Genin could hear him coming a mile away. But when Itachi enters his view, Shisui knows instantly that he might as well have teleported. He is completely unnoticed.

As such, there is no censoring, no hiding of Itachi’s reaction. The boy simply falls to his knees and screams.

Birds nesting in branches retreat as the rending sound of one shinobi’s agony reverberates off of everything it hits. It goes on and on; the echo lasts long after Itachi has worn his voice out, unending, a continual reminder of what lies ahead. As if anyone could possibly forget.

There are tears drying on Shisui’s face now. He didn’t even realize he was crying. He knows he needs to help Itachi, comfort him somehow before he loses his mind, but he can’t move forward, because _how the hell can you comfort someone over something like this?!_

He must force himself to move at some point, because the next thing Shisui knows Itachi is in his arms and he is in Itachi’s, and somehow they are holding each other together while the world cracks around them and threatens to shatter.

**..**

War is officially declared four weeks after the Hokage’s announcement. Sand declares war on Leaf in turn, as does Sound. Other villages, sensing their chance to gain more power and respect if the great Village Hidden in the Leaves falls, join the alliance as well. Still others choose to honor prior treaties with Konoha and ally themselves with them.

Too quickly, the world is looking at a Fourth Great Ninja War.

Konoha immediately mobilizes its forces. Academy children old enough to graduate are made official shinobi quickly, although the Sandaime stresses that these novices will not be sent into direct danger unless there is no alternative. Drafts are discussed but turn out to be unnecessary; Leaf’s people are loyal, and there is no shortage of volunteers for battle. Civilians sign up, train briefly, go to battle and die by the hundreds.

One month into the war, hoping to end things quickly, those in power make an unusual decision. They decide to deploy a third each of their two greatest assets: the police force, followed by ANBU.

The time after this order goes by in a blur in Shisui’s eyes. One day he’s being deployed, his mother wearing a blank expression identical to that worn by the cousins who are also going to war. The next, he’s been assigned his living quarters out in the middle of nowhere. The next, he’s been in his first skirmish and there’s nothing really to show for it except more blood on his hands.

Week after week crawls by. Battle after battle. Shisui finds himself eternally grateful for all the time he spent over the years perfecting his invented technique. _Shunshin_ , he calls it-Body Flicker. And it has been a deciding factor in several fights so far.

It’s been a few months, give or take, by the time ANBU shows up at their post. Shisui isn’t sure about the reason for the delay, and finds he doesn’t particularly care. Once he hears the news, he rushes to where everyone has gathered and prays he doesn’t see a familiar face.

Actually, he doesn’t see any faces at all; ANBU do not remove their masks even around allies. But Shisui does spot an unusually short member with a long ponytail, and his heart sinks.

He catches the cat-masked young captain after the briefing disperses and says the first thing that comes to mind.

“Hey, little cousin.”

**..**

Deploying such a large portion of two of their best fighting forces was a gamble on Konoha’s part, but it seems to be paying off. Less than six months after the edict went into effect, Suna and their allies are being pushed back, albeit painfully slowly.

This success is encouraging, but in no way enough to make anybody feel complacent. As if to illustrate the point that getting overly confident is a foolish move, a message comes in that a squad comprising mostly of police shinobi has been decimated along the border. Their squad leader, Fugaku’s cousin Tekka, lies among the dead.

It’s not long after this incident that Shisui is called into his own squad leader’s office.

Uchiha Yashiro doesn’t waste time with pleasantries.

“The clan has decided,” he says, “that the time has come for you to take your rightful place among the Uchiha.”

Shisui says nothing, waiting for Yashiro to clarify. When silence is the only response he receives, he speaks up.

“What exactly does that entail, sir?”

This time, the statement is even less direct. “You have lived as an Uchiha for close to a decade. In this war you have proven yourself an asset to us time and again, though admittedly an unpredictable one.” He gives Shisui a look that conveys perfectly what he thinks of aforementioned unpredictability before continuing. “You have the skill. You have the name. All you are missing is the lineage, and it is one we now feel you are worthy of. It is the decision of the clan that you inherit the Kekkai Genkai of the Uchiha.”

“The Sharingan?” Shisui blurts in disbelief. “But how would-”

He stops as the blindingly obvious answer hits him.

“…An eye transfer?”

“Precisely. One of our clan members has been permanently bedridden by his war wounds. Rather than letting his eyes go to waste, he has elected to donate them to you.”

Shisui stares at a spot on the dank wall.

“Uchiha Shisui.” Yashiro’s voice is stern. “Do you accept?”

 _Better question,_ Shisui thinks dimly. _Do I have a choice?_

The answer is pretty obvious. And besides, what does he have to lose? Anything that might help to end this nightmare more quickly is a huge stroke of luck.

“I…accept, sir.”

**..**

The transfer is done in a secluded medic’s tent at the edge of their post. Transfers of eye techniques do not typically involve physical plucking of eyeballs, and the medic-nin performing this one assures Shisui that he will feel nothing.

And he doesn’t. Until the next morning, when seeing is impossible through a haze of agonizing yellows and reds that burn his retinas until he wants to claw them out to make it stop. The medic-nin eventually succeeds in sedating him, and when he wakes up again he is wearing a blindfold and feeling nothing but a dull ache behind his new eyes.

Yashiro comes in that night and teaches him the basics of controlling the Sharingan, at least to the point where Shisui doesn’t have to walk around blindfolded. When morning comes he teaches him how to activate it again, and the rest of the next few days is spent learning the intricacies of the famed Sharingan as best as can be done considering the circumstances.

“Uchiha children are born with this capability, and spend the majority of their lives learning to use it properly,” Yashiro points out before leaving on day three. “You will never be as proficient in the Sharingan’s use as a blood Uchiha, but you will learn to use it well enough for it to be a credit and not a hindrance.”

After the older man departs, an exhausted Shisui is all too happy to fall onto his futon and sleep for as long as he can. Before he can do so, however, there is a rustle of fabric as someone else enters the tent.

Shisui turns and Itachi freezes.

“Your…” Itachi blinks and pauses for a moment to compose himself. “Your eyes.”

“Oh.” _Great, Shisui, really articulate._ “Um, yeah.” _That’s so much better! Good for you, bonehead._

“Yashiro-san said that you were unavailable,” Itachi continues. “Only five minutes ago did you become ‘available’ again. Your Sharingan is still activated, incidentally.”

“Oh. Oops. Guess that explains why everything has a reddish tinge to it,” Shisui remarks, deactivating his new eyes carefully.

“How are you feeling?” Itachi asks, tone impeccably neutral.

“All right,” is the light response. “Now that the bonfire behind my eyeballs is more or less gone, I’d say I’m feeling pretty good. What about yourself? You didn’t lose a limb or something while I was out of commission, did you?”

“Once again, Shisui, you do not give me enough credit.” Itachi makes a point of holding up both arms. “I am still in one piece.”

“Good, good. What about the others?”

Itachi’s mouth tightens slightly. “As well as can be expected. Morale is…decent.” He hesitates before adding, “Another squad went down. Iwagakure work. Fifteen dead, not one alive without injuries.”

Shisui sinks down onto the futon he’d wanted to sleep on so badly a minute ago. His reply to the news is succinct. “Shit.”

“I can agree with that sentiment.”

The words are dry as salt, but the more Shisui watches his cousin the more exhausted Itachi looks. There are deep, dark circles underneath his eyes and thin lines around the corners of his mouth. He looks old, miserable, and dead on his feet.

“Come here and sit down, will you?” Shisui pats the futon. “You’re making me tired just looking at you.”

The younger teen says nothing, but obeys and sits down next to his cousin, who promptly switches subjects.

“You know, you’re gonna have to teach me some of the finer points of using this thing.” Shisui gestures to his eyes. “After all, you’re younger, and it’ll just about kill my pride if you’re better than me at something I can actually use.” Of course, if this were true his pride would be a long-forgotten memory by now, but Shisui feels like this is one of those times where rambling about unimportant subjects is the way to go. There’s enough seriousness going around.

“Apparently the guy who had this before me could mess with people’s minds using the Sharingan,” he continues. “I want to learn how to use _that_ technique more than anything else at this point. Can you imagine? I’d be able to mind-meld that old twit Danzo into thinking he’s a chicken or something. That’d be nothing short of epic, I tell you.”

Shisui stops. There’s a distinct lack of reprimanding coming from Itachi. Sure enough, upon closer inspection, the kid appears to have fallen asleep sitting up.

_Itachi showing evidence of basic human needs in front of others? Holy hell, the Apocalypse is upon us all. Someone get me a sign to put around my neck._

Experimentally, he pokes Itachi’s side to see if he’ll fall sideways (he doesn’t). And he wonders what he’s going to do now. On the one hand, he’d be more than happy to conk out himself. On the other hand, Itachi is sitting directly in the middle of the futon, and Shisui would honestly prefer not to wake him up.

He decides to try something. Slowly, he bends down and picks his friend’s legs off of the floor and puts them on the end of the mattress. It’s proof of how truly wiped out Itachi is, he thinks, that he isn’t waking up whilst being moved around. Next is the do-or-die moment; as in, he will die if Itachi catches him doing this. A fiery death, most likely, because a tired Itachi probably wouldn’t have the patience to Sharingan his ass.

Shaking off those thoughts, Shisui puts his hands on Itachi’s shoulders and carefully pushes him down.

Eight seconds later, he is still in one piece and Uchiha Itachi is sleeping on his futon. Which sounds slightly less incriminating in his head that he suspects it would if said aloud.

 _Wonder how much flack I’ll get for this if anybody walks in,_ he muses, easing himself into a horizontal position. _I’ll probably get court marshaled or something for “cavorting while on duty.” Never mind that nobody’s doing any cavorting here, and even if we were, we’re_ technically _not on duty; therefore we’d_ technically _be cavorting on our own time…Did I seriously just entertain that thought?_

Shisui decides sleep is more in order than he previously thought, and closes his eyes.

**..**

The next morning, his first thought is, _Why am I sleeping on the edge of the-_

The second is, _Oh, yeah._

Turning over, Shisui finds that Itachi is gone. _Well, no surprise there._

At breakfast, Inabi waves him over. Another Uchiha, a fellow member of both his squad and the police force.

And Tekka’s elder brother. But it’s been well established that he does not care for the sympathy of others, so Shisui resolves not to mention it.

“Yashiro told us about your eyes,” he murmurs when Shisui sits down. “Congratulations.”

“Thanks.”

“So…” Inabi’s tone changes. He sounds almost amused. “How’s Itachi?”

Shisui eyes the older man. “He’s hanging in there. If anyone can say better about themselves, they’re either stupid or deluded.”

“Hmm.” Inabi is quiet for a minute. When he speaks again, he’s lowered his voice even further. “I was on guard near your tent last night. I saw Itachi go in.” His eyes fix on Shisui’s, unreadable. “What I didn’t see was Itachi coming out again.”

 _Ah, damn._ “Relax, Inabi, there’s nothing creepy going on. Promise.”

“Then by all means,” is the calm reply. “Explain how what I saw wasn’t what it looked like.”

“Itachi came to check on me. He conked out.”

“Standing up?”

“On m-on the futon.” Shisui shrugs.

“Mm-hm. And why was he there to begin with?”

“Have I been arrested without my knowledge?”

“No.”

“Then why,” Shisui asks, “are you interrogating me?”

Inabi sighs. “Look, Shisui, I really couldn’t care less who you choose to involve yourself with. I just don’t want you to get yourself reprimanded-or worse-because you aren’t thinking clearly.”

“ _Inabi_ ,” Shisui groans. “Nothing’s going on. We were sitting, talking, and he fell asleep. And I sure as hell wasn’t going to sleep on the floor.”

“And why, pray tell, couldn’t you just wake him up and send him off?”

 “He fell asleep sitting up, for crying out loud! He needed all the rest he could get.”

Inabi holds up a hand. “Fine. That’s your story and you’re sticking to it, and I for one think that if you were going to lie you’d come up with a better one. I believe you. Others won’t. That’s all I’m saying.”

“Excellent. Thanks for the advice,” Shisui responds dryly, digging into his food.

After a few seconds it becomes clear that Inabi is still watching him. Shisui manages to ignore it for almost a minute before dropping his fork and growling, “ _What?_ ”

Inabi doesn’t pretend not to know what he’s talking about. “I’m trying to figure out whether or not you already know something before I bring it up,” he remarks.

“Does it involve me?”

“Not you alone, but yeah.”

 _Sounds ominous. Great._ “Just spit it out.”

“All right.” Still calm. Shisui wonders how worried he should be. “The higher-ups have decided to go on the offensive again. Show the enemy that we’re not any less strong for having lost two squads in the space of a week. They’ve decided to bring out the big guns.”

“This isn’t ‘spitting it out’.”

“They’re clearing this post out,” Inabi says bluntly. “More or less. The majority of us are headed to the front. Tonight.”

“We’re mobilizing that fast?” Shisui whistles. “So will this place be torn down or what?”

“No. It’s going to stay operational as a supplier, a place for news to go through, that sort of thing. But most of the shinobi are leaving.”

“So we’re going to the front.” ‘The front’, in this case, being the border that so many have been dying to defend. It’s a dizzying prospect.

“Actually, Shisui…” Inabi exhales. “ _We’re_ going to the front.”

“That’s what I just said.”

“No. What you said implied that _you_ were heading out with us.”

It takes a few seconds for that to sink in. When it does, Shisui’s eyes narrow. “What exactly is that supposed to mean?”

“It means that you’re staying here.”

Shisui stands up so fast the table is nearly upended. “No way,” he snarls. “No goddamn _way_ am I staying here. On whose authority? What’s their reasoning?”

“On Yashiro’s, on the grounds that you are one of our best fighters-”

“Then it makes no sense to-”

“It would if you’d let me finish. His reasoning is that you haven’t fully learned to control your Sharingan yet, and he won’t risk you in battle until you have.”

That’s all Shisui needs to hear. He storms from the mess hall and to his superior’s office, where he goes in without bothering to wait for permission.

Yashiro eyes him coldly from behind a paper-cluttered desk. “Shisui,” he says. “Explain yourself.”

“You aren’t keeping me here.”

Yashiro stands. “ _Excuse_ me?” Icicles drip from the words, but Shisui plows on.

“You can’t keep me here,” he snaps. “How many battles have I helped to win? You’re going to need me, _especially_ if you’re sticking everybody right in front of enemy lines.”

“You just said it yourself: You are a valuable asset. And I refuse to waste such value needlessly. The police shinobi, ANBU operatives and other troops will handle themselves without you, rest assured.” There’s a hint of mockery there that pushes Shisui’s temper past the boiling point. He slams both fists on the other man’s desk, sending papers scattering.

The message is clear, and the reply equally so.

“Uchiha Shisui,” Yashiro says calmly. “I could have you taken off of active duty for that.”

Shisui stays silent, waiting to hear what a moment of stupidity is going to cost him.

“You will remain here,” his commanding officer states, “until you have mastered your new kekkai genkai. Under no other circumstances will I allow you to join the fighters at the frontlines. If you should try to undermine this order in any way, I will have you charged with insubordination and attempted desertion, the typical penalty for which is death. As you well know.” He clears his throat. “Am I understood?”

Shisui removes his stinging hands from the wood, noting the indentation marks he’s left there, and leaves the office without a word.

Everyone at the base is leaving for a million potential kamikazes. Everyone is leaving to fight and perhaps die for their village.

Everyone except for him.

He heads for the practice grounds, quickly. He needs to kill something, even if it’s only a hapless tree.

**..**

Evening seems to come quickly. Shisui hadn’t realized how many hours had passed until he paused in his exercising (more appropriately, target-demolishing) for a quick breather and saw that the sky was dark.

 _They’ll be leaving soon, then,_ he muses. It’s just as well. The quicker they’re gone, the less temptation he has to sneak out with them. He’s reasonably sure he wouldn’t do something that stupid, but better safe than sorry; with this thought in mind, he picks up another shuriken.

 _Itachi,_ his mind whispers suddenly, and he misses the intended target by a mile. _You aren’t even going to see him off?_

_You realize, don’t you, that he might not come back?_

Cursing under his breath because of course, of _course_ he’s aware of that, Shisui turns to start back toward base camp and almost screams.

“Itachi, I swear to-you just shaved off about eight years of my life, you know that?”

“I apologize,” Itachi replies, unruffled. “It isn’t good that I can sneak up on you so easily.”

“Yeah, well.” Shisui runs a hand back through his tangled mess of curls. “You’re you.”

“Yashiro-san told me you’d be here,” Itachi says, ignoring the statement. “He said you were…unimpressed with the arrangements he made.”

Shisui snorts. “‘Unimpressed’. Yeah, I guess that’d be one way of saying it.”

“We are heading out.”

A strange churning manifests itself in Shisui’s stomach. “Now?”

“Yes. I requested a few minutes to-” Itachi cuts himself off and lifts his head, meeting Shisui’s eyes with a perfectly calm gaze. “Goodbye, Shisui.”

And suddenly Shisui feels like he’s going to choke. But he navigates the words around the lump in his throat and manages to sound moderately casual.

“’Bye, Itachi.”

When it becomes apparent that Shisui (can’t) isn’t going to say anything more Itachi nods, something strangely akin to disappointment coloring his expression, turns away and starts walking.

Shisui can feel his breathing getting more shallow. He’s pretty sure he’s having a small panic attack.

_Dammit, dammit, dammit, this is no good at all-_

“Oi, Itachi,” he calls, forcing his vocal cords to work properly for just a little bit longer.

Itachi turns around, giving Shisui enough time to say what he needs to say.

“You had better wait for me.”

He notices Itachi’s eyes glinting in the fading light, but has no time to think on it before Itachi replies and is gone.

And the sole thing that keeps Shisui from screaming or tearing his hair out or following, consequences be damned, is that reply. Four simple words.

“Then I will wait.”

**..**

The rest of that night and every minute of the following days are spent in nonstop trial-and-error training with the Sharingan. A medic ventures over to Shisui’s spot on the practice ground more than once to shove food down his throat, and eventually asks Yashiro to intervene before his precious commodity kills himself.

Yashiro imposes a more effective training regime, using his own spare time to teach Shisui what he can-which is plenty. Shisui then practices whatever is taught until someone is sent to order him to rest or eat.

By the end of week five, Shisui is utterly exhausted both mentally and physically, but he can feel it. Now, he will earn his way to the front. All he needs to do is prove himself to his commanding officer.

The ‘exam’ is straightforward, and the bottom line is that Shisui passes. Narrowly, but Yashiro is satisfied enough to allow him a transfer.

“Your control is still not perfect,” he says grimly, “but it would appear that we cannot afford to continue wasting time. The troops at the border are being hammered hard-not that this is anything new-and every help is needed.”

Shisui swallows. _‘Hammered’. If Yashiro’s using a metaphorical term, how bad does it have to be?_

“Iwagakure has sent one of their best to pressure those at the front,” the older man continues. “Some sort of bomber, but a uniquely skilled one. This means we all have to pay extreme caution-watch for mines and aerial attacks, especially.”

“Understood.” _Now let me go already._

“And one more thing.” Yashiro eyes him levelly. “Try not to get yourself killed.”

Despite everything, Shisui grins a little. “Duly noted.”

Five weeks. It takes five weeks, in the end, which feels about four weeks and six days too long.

**..**

The trip to the front gives Shisui an uneasy taste of what he’s going to be in for. As the miles pass by the landscape becomes steadily more decimated, to the point where nothing living-plant, person or anything else-can be seen.

His arrival at the base does nothing to lessen his vaguely hellish expectations. The troops who pass by are visibly wounded nine-point-nine times out of ten. They are dirty, downcast (understatement of the century) and carrying around a perpetually grim aura, and although they never meet his eyes Shisui can all but hear what they’re thinking.

_Fresh meat._

The briefing is mercifully short. His new commanding officer tells him nothing he doesn’t already know, and the gist is simple. _This base is being hit hard, is expecting to be hit harder; follow orders, do your job and do your best to not die._

Afterwards, Shisui heads outside and takes in his surroundings which, as established, are minimal and bleak. A scout is patrolling along an imaginary line and looking bored out of his mind, so Shisui waves him over.

“Problem?” the scout asks shortly. Up close, it doesn’t look like the kid’s even fifteen yet.

“No problem,” Shisui replies. “Just wondering if you know where I might find Uchiha Itachi. He’s an ANBU captain, kinda short-”

“I know of Uchiha-san,” the scout cuts in. “Why do you need to see him?”

“I’m his cousin.”

The kid’s eyebrows take a brief upwards hike before settling down again. “His squad just got back from a skirmish yesterday. He’ll probably be either at the practice grounds or cleaning off his equipment. Seems to be all he does while he’s here.” He shrugs and turns to go back to his job.

“By the way,” he adds over his shoulder, “Uchiha-san isn’t short.”

_…What?_

Five minutes later Shisui is wandering the unfamiliar corridors, utterly lost and hoping it’s not obvious. He’s starting to wish himself capable of setting pride aside and asking for directions. Such an ability could come in handy, seeing as Shisui’s own sense of direction is at about the same level as a smashed Might Guy’s.

_Equipment Room…Equipment Room…I know I saw it around here somewhere…_

The labyrinth (so he’s dubbed it in his mind) is ever-twisting, and going back to ask for help is almost starting to sound like a good option when the magic door finally appears in front of him.

_Cue Hallelujah chorus, please._

Shisui pushes open the door, triumphant grin already snaking across his face, and sees…nothing. Except for, well, equipment. Weapons cover the wall in an organized sort of chaos, and polish and sharpening tools are scattered everywhere. But the room is otherwise empty.

Swearing a mental blue streak over the waste of time and frustration, Shisui turns to leave the room and immediately smashes into someone entering.

An ANBU breastplate hits the ground with a clatter, followed by an armful of kunai and shuriken. Shisui manages to catch one item, a long katana sword. Its familiarity registers in his mind right before an apology can.

“You did get taller,” he manages instead; his grip slips, and he has Itachi in a tight hug before the sword even hits the floor.

“ _Shisui_?” It’s as surprised as Shisui’s ever heard him. “How did you-?”

“Missed you,” is the simple reply.

They stay silent for a minute, Itachi completely stiff and Shisui almost completely not caring, before the former pulls away.

“If that is the case, then at least you were motivated for once,” Itachi points out, the corner of his mouth fighting a losing battle upwards.

“Yeah, sure,” Shisui snorts. “Motivate me like that again and I’ll kick your ass, best friend or no.” He clears his throat and tries valiantly to ignore the heat spreading over his ears. Emotional displays do not a dignified Shisui make, it seems.

“So,” he continues, tone purposely nonchalant. “Speaking of ass-kicking, I believe I have the Sharingan mastered now.” ‘Mastered’ is a laughably massive overstatement, but it has the desired effect. Itachi raises an eyebrow.

“Oh?”

“Your lack of faith is so depressing,” he sighs. “Fine, then. I challenge you to a spar-right here, right now. To prove the superiority that is apparently obvious to everyone except for you.”

“Really,” Itachi says dryly, shifting easily into a fighting position. “And whose superiority would that be?”

Smirking, Shisui takes his own stance. “Guess we’re about to find out, huh, little cousin?”

**..**

He will later learn that the quick smiles Itachi let slip during their spar (the conclusion of which Shisui will never comment on) are the first anyone has seen from him since he arrived at the base. He will also slowly get the feeling that they will be the last in some time. And at some point that feeling is proven true-for both of them.

Any elation Leaf’s people might have felt during the immediate successes of the elder’s edict is thoroughly squashed now. Far from ending the war quickly, the deploying of the “heavy-hitters” has only been dragging things out by forcing Konoha’s enemies to do the same thing. Every day brings those elsewhere more news from the front, and that news has almost always been bad just as often as good.

Now that Shisui is _at_ the front, he finds himself wondering just where the hell all of the good news has been coming from.

Shinobi are still dropping like flies; on both sides, granted, but this does nothing to comfort anybody. More than once Shisui has overheard older troops muttering darkly that there is one upside to all of one’s battlefield friends being dead-there is nobody left to worry about.

This makes Shisui’s stomach twist in on itself. He only has one friend out here-only one egg in his basket-and if Itachi’s death is the alternative, then Shisui will gladly keep worrying about him for the rest of his life, if need be.

Neither of them is deployed for the first week of Shisui’s arrival (as new recruits are often immediately sent out, Shisui strongly suspects Yashiro’s continual interference). So when Itachi is finally given an order to take his squad out, Shisui figures he’s just gone soft. He’s been spoiled by too little separation. If they were both out fighting on separate battlefields every day, then his gut wouldn’t clench when Itachi went off on a possible suicide mission. Then he wouldn’t spend the following hours training on the practice grounds until his body screeched in protest. Then he wouldn’t feel that if- **When** _, dammit_ -Itachi returned, it would be a bullet dodged by nothing more than sheer dumb luck.

A day goes by.

And another.

And a third.

On the fourth morning he has a strange, pressing urge to throw up his last meal, and he probably only manages to avoid doing so because he actually hadn’t eaten anything the night before. He simultaneously is disgusted with himself for being so _weak_ (it’s not as if he’s some kind of pining lover, for god’s sake), and grateful for said weakness because it means that war has not yet managed to leech his humanity away.

Although, if Itachi doesn’t come back…He can’t picture being able to see anything good in having feelings then.

**..**

The good news is that Itachi does return.

The bad news is that Itachi doesn’t see this as good news.

**..**

It’s during his third training session (read: attempted distraction) of the day that Shisui hears, mid-target practice, that Squad 12 has returned. His next throw is so off as a result that he almost puts a shuriken through a (thankfully quick) kunoichi’s head.

He promptly drops his weapons (increasing yet again the number of shinobi conduct rules he’s broken in his lifetime), and is gone in a flicker before the resulting clatter can reach his ears.

The medical room is closed off by guards, as it always is when returning shinobi are giving a mission report.

Shisui wastes no time.

“Uchiha Itachi,” he says bluntly. “Is he in there?”

One of two guards, already recovered from seeing Shisui appear seemingly out of nowhere, shakes his head.

“No information on mission status is to be given out at this time,” he says impassively.

 _Screw regulations,_ Shisui’s brain is screaming. But he knows that getting himself stuck in confinement isn’t going to help matters.

“Just tell me how he’s doing,” he says, fighting to keep his voice even.

“No information means no information,” the guard responds. “Status on those who carried out the mission, including survival status, falls under the heading of ‘information’. Which, I should add, you should already know.”

Shisui is one more refusal away from doing something incredibly stupid (he isn’t sure what, exactly, but there’s no doubt in his mind that it _will_ be incredibly stupid), but the door opens at that point and saves him from his own fear-driven impatience.

It’s Inabi. His face is drawn and grim.

“I see you made it here, Shisui.” And he doesn’t make that sound like a good thing. “Go in. I know I can’t stop you. Just-” He cuts himself off, shakes his head and is halfway down the hall before Shisui can say a word.

Shisui doesn’t make a habit of looking gift horses in the mouth; he’s through both guards and door in a matter of half-seconds.

Itachi is sitting ramrod-straight on one of the medical cots. His eyes are blank and fixed on the opposing wall, sending a wave of déjà vu crashing over Shisui.

It is then that he notices. The rest of the room is empty.

And unless Itachi is brilliant enough to lead his team through the first no-injuries war mission in history…

Shisui swallows hard.

“Itachi?”

He is ignored, making the feeling of déjà vu that much stronger. And somehow, he doubts that a bowl of soup and a six-year-old’s persistence are going to cut it this time.

Shisui makes his way over to the cot opposite Itachi’s, and sits down directly in his cousin’s line of vision. Itachi doesn’t even blink, and the resulting feeling of being looked right through is extremely eerie.

Surprisingly, though, he speaks after a few seconds. Tonelessly, yes, but it’s more than Shisui was expecting to get without careful prodding.

“I made a tactical error,” he says flatly. “We reached the edge of the border without incident, and the area was quiet. When we crossed into enemy territory, the mines went off. I activated my Sharingan to check for them a second too late. Stupid.” The word is drenched in self-loathing. “Those that weren’t killed in the initial explosion were temporarily blinded by the flash. We were ambushed immediately after.”

Shisui closes his eyes, lips a thin line.

“I managed solely because of the Sharingan aiding my eyesight. There was one other survivor, a veteran, who insisted that we retreat,” Itachi continues. “She died of injuries en route back to the base. So you see, Shisui.” His voice is bitter. “I am more than capable of protecting myself. It is others that I seem unable to protect.”

“It was supposed to be a basic in-and-out reconnaissance mission,” Shisui murmurs after a while. “There’ve been no reports of enemy movement near that area in weeks. You had no way of knowing.”

“I should have sensed something off.” Itachi’s hands are gripping the sheet fabric. “I should have checked the area earlier. It was a foolish mistake, and now an entire squad is dead because of it.” He meets Shisui’s eyes at last, looking completely lost. “I am not suited for this position, Shisui.”

“…No,” Shisui sighs. “You’re not. It’s what I’ve been saying from the start, remember? You care too much. And God knows it’d be nice not to worry about you getting your skinny ass killed every time you leave the base, but we’re shinobi. We’re Konoha shinobi, and this is our responsibility. We need you, because suited or not, you’re still one of the best captains ANBU’s ever had.”

Itachi’s grip on the sheet tightens. “What good,” he asks through gritted teeth, “is a captain who gets everyone in his charge killed? What good is that to anyone?”

“What good’ll come out of a perfectly capable, damn _good_ ninja sitting on the sidelines because he’s afraid of casualties?” Shisui snaps. “This is war, in case you haven’t noticed. People have been dying, _are_ dying, and will _keep_ dying until the time comes when we end this. And you owe it to your comrades-dead and alive-to do what you can to make that time come faster.”

Itachi’s gaze pitches towards the floor. Part of Shisui regrets what he’s just said, but a bigger part insists that it was necessary. If Itachi keeps wallowing in this ocean of guilt he’s made for himself, he’s inevitably going to drown in it.

Once a full minute has passed in silence, Shisui groans. He gets up, sits down next to his friend and speaks. “Itachi, you know I just want you-” And then he stops, because what exactly is he going to say?

_I just want you not to fall apart in front of me. Not when I can’t do anything to help you._

“…to be happy,” he finishes lamely. “Or at least not miserable.”

“I am sorry to disappoint you.” The words sound genuinely apologetic.

“Yeah, well.” Shisui forces a laugh, desperate to lighten the mood a little. “I ask too much.”

“No,” Itachi replies quietly. “You don’t.” He looks up, meeting Shisui’s eyes again. “You never have.”

Shisui’s throat is dry. Just when did they get this close?

His first thought is, _Maybe I should think this over before I do something boneheaded._

Then, _On second thought, why start now?_

He leans forward. Itachi doesn’t move, which kind of surprises him and kind of doesn’t.

“Will you let me help you?” Shisui whispers when they’re about an inch apart.

Itachi is silent just long enough to make Shisui wonder if he’s made a colossal mistake and would be better off drowning himself in a rain barrel.

“It is interesting,” Itachi finally murmurs, “that you phrase that as if I have a choice.” His mouth quirks, just a little bit, the tiniest shadow of a smile; and it is at that point that Shisui decides _The hell with it_ and closes the distance between them completely.

Somewhere-very far away, it seems-he hears a cough and the sound of a door swinging shut. He realizes he never closed the door after entering the room and grins against Itachi’s mouth because, quite frankly, he doesn’t care.

**..**

It’s been a few days since the return of Squad 12, or what was left of it, and Shisui has elected to cheerfully ignore the fact he’s sort of in love with his (male) cousin. His reasoning is that it simply doesn’t bother him, at least not as much as it should (they’re not blood related anyway, although he doubts their family will agree with such an argument-logically sound though it may be); and even if he did, it’s not like he could just stop doing what they’re doing.

 _A bit more discreetness might’ve been a good idea, though,_ he muses as he eats. Thanks to the door and its distressing lack of...well, being _closed_ until it was too late, it feels like the entire base knows about It. He never imagined shinobi to be the gossipy types, but he supposes there’s not much to do out here aside from waiting for orders. Any distraction will work.

The only one who’s said anything directly is Inabi, who stopped Shisui in the corridor the next day and simply informed him that, should all of them survive the war and return home, he wished to be there when Shisui told Fugaku that he was sleeping with his elder son. He then went off to the training grounds, completely ignoring Shisui’s scarlet-eared protests.

Shisui doesn’t begrudge Inabi his moment of fun, nor would he if any of his other comrades chose to make a comment. The tables are beginning to turn on Leaf in the war; the “uniquely skilled bomber” Yashiro told him about has been making more and more appearances. Shisui has yet to figure out what exactly makes him so ‘unique’; all he knows is that the man is Iwa and that he has been racking up Konoha’s casualty list more than all of Suna’s squads combined.

He hasn’t thought about his mother in a while, but does so now. He hopes she’s safe, hopes that Konoha’s walls haven’t been breached the way they were when he and Itachi were young. He hopes Teyaki has been taking care of her.

He hopes Mikoto and Fugaku, both kept from frontline duty for different reasons (Mikoto to assist medic-nin, as she hasn’t been an active shinobi since becoming pregnant with Itachi; Fugaku to advise the Hokage and assist with strategizing regarding the police force, as he knows their strengths and weaknesses best), will be alright as well.

That afternoon, he discovers who Itachi’s hoping for.

“Sasuke wanted to come with me when I was deployed,” Itachi says as they walk around the base’s outside perimeter. “But he was far too inexperienced, and too young. Only ten years old.” His eyes close briefly. “I am constantly relieved by that.”

Shisui nods. Bad enough to have cousins and old teammates and friends (he dares not even think about thinking the word ‘lover’) fighting in this hell, but a kid brother as well? Sasuke means the world to Itachi. He can’t even imagine.

“Shisui.” Itachi interrupts his thoughts. “If…” He pauses, looking skyward as if considering how to phrase his words. “If something happened, and I was unable to return home-”

Shisui cuts him off with a sharp smack upside the head. Itachi stops walking and gives him a confused and reproachful glare.

“You are _not_ ,” Shisui says firmly, “going to start that ‘if I don’t make it’ shit. In fact, you aren’t even going to think about it. Conversation over.”

His tone leaves no room for argument, but Itachi presses anyway. “ _If_ something happened, I would want you to look after Sasuke.” He rushes through the rest, presumably to get everything out before Shisui interrupts him again. “I would want you to take my place.”

Shisui stares. “ _Replace_ you?” he manages. “That’s-”

“You told me once,” Itachi says, taking his turn to interrupt, “that I no longer needed an elder brother. And you were right.” He swallows. “But Sasuke still does. I would want you to be there for him if I couldn’t be.”

“Itachi-”

“I would want you to watch over him, keep him safe.” His eyes are boring into Shisui’s. “It is nothing you didn’t do for me.”

Shisui isn’t sure how to reply. Eventually, he gives an irritable sigh. “I would look after him. You know I would.” He scowls. “But you’d better not think that this gives you license to die or anything moronic like that, because it doesn’t. If you die out here, I’ll kill you.”

Itachi’s face relaxes slightly, and Shisui knows it’s not thanks to his terrible attempt at a joke.

“And no thank-yous either,” he adds, seeing his friend’s mouth open. “Not one. That agreement was only a formality, because you are going home in one piece or my name isn’t Uchiha Shisui. Clear?”

“Absolutely,” Itachi replies, once again using the dry tone that signals Shisui is being ridiculous.

“Good.”

Taking that as the end of the exchange, Itachi starts to walk again. Shisui notices something and grins, not a little bit wickedly.

“Ah-ah-ah,” he drawls, reaching out and grabbing Itachi’s ponytail. Itachi stops in his tracks and turns, looking only mildly irritated.

“I would appreciate you letting go of my hair.”

“Getting there,” Shisui replies breezily, tugging the younger boy gently towards him. “I never knew your girly hair could be so useful,” he remarks. And then proceeds to kiss Itachi senseless (as senseless as Itachi ever gets, anyway).

Needless to say, the number of snide comments escalates after that more public display. Itachi is more embarrassed than he ever lets on. Shisui continues to stick with his ‘I-Don’t-Care’ philosophy and merely smiles through it all.

**..**

Days melt into weeks, which in turn melt into months. Shisui turns eighteen (“Which kind of makes me the creepy old man in this equation, huh?” he points out to Itachi; a statement followed up by “Ah well; what’s one more weird factor with us anyway?”).

Skirmishes and missions also begin to blur together in his memories. Was it the Akuryo Bridge battle when he almost lost his arm, or was that Kikyo Pass? Did he almost kill himself using the Shunshin that time at the Northern Border, or was that elsewhere? A good day, now, is having a near-death experience that does not actually end in death.

By now, more intel has come in about Iwagakure’s mysterious bomber-nin. Apparently the man uses chakra-infused clay to do the general exploding, which sounds far simpler than it is. He uses his clay for everything from weaponry to transportation; there is nothing he cannot blow up, given enough ammunition. And he never seems to run out of ammunition.

Not that this information helps all that much, practically speaking. Deployed shinobi check for mines and watch the skies, as they have done almost since the war’s beginning, but the bomber is always pulling new tricks out of his sleeve, and he has quickly moved to the forefront of the bingo book.

“Am I the only one who thinks it’d be smart to _focus_ on this guy?” Shisui asks irritably one day. “It’s no secret that he’s our biggest problem right now.”

“We have been focusing on him,” Itachi replies, calm as usual. “But we are being attacked from almost all sides. It would not be practical to send out more squads than we already are, in the hopes of taking down one enemy shinobi.”

“He isn’t just ‘one enemy shinobi’, and you know it. He might as well be his own damn army for all the damage he’s doing.”

“Still.” Itachi frowns. “We are spread thin as it is. We can’t afford needless waste of shinobi.”

Shisui scowls. “Then why, pray tell, are we bothering at all? If we’re not going to send out enough fighter to take him down, then why-”

“Because we cannot allow Iwagakure to think that they can use this bomber to walk all over us.”

“That’s political bull-‘allow’ has nothing to do with it. Iwa already thinks that, and they’re right.”

Itachi has nothing to say to that, but apparently council is thinking along the same lines, because the next morning the man running the base enters the mess hall with a list of names.

“The shinobi on this list,” Asuma tells them, “have been instructed to group together in a special squad. Your sole purpose is to capture the bomber-nin of Iwa that’s been causing us so much trouble.” A low murmur of angry assent ripples throughout the room, punctuated by a few cheers from the younger recruits.

“There is only one requirement,” the Sandaime’s son continues, “and that is that you bring him back alive.”

_What?_

There are no outraged cries; this is a room of ninja, after all, and none of them dare to give in to such an outburst against orders. But the cheers immediately silence.

Asuma sighs. “All of you know this, but I’ll say it anyway-this man is a potential fountain of war secrets. Once our interrogators get their hands on him, there’s no telling how much beneficial information we could get out of him. That’s the reason.”

Shisui notices several white faces and clenched fists among the crowd. He bets there isn’t a single person in the room who isn’t angry, or at least incredulous-this is the man who’s killed hundreds of their comrades, friends and family, and they can’t even be allowed the satisfaction of revenge? Shisui knows-as do they all-that what the interrogators do to him will be worse than any death, but it still feels a bit like they’ve been robbed.

Undoubtedly sensing the tension in the room, Asuma clears his throat and begins to read off names. By the time he’s finished, Shisui has noticed three things: One, he is on the list; two, Itachi is as well; three, the total number of names called adds up to almost a fourth of their force.

_Things are that desperate, huh?_

“Yamato-san, will you lead this squad?” Asuma is asking. A tall man wearing an ANBU mask stands, nods, and then sits back down.

“Good. That’s that, then.” Asuma lets his gaze roam the room. “Those of you whose names were called, you’ll deploy in twenty-four hours. Good luck.”

He leaves the room. The mess hall’s occupants return to their meals, and the room is quiet except for the clinking of forks.

“What do you know,” Shisui murmurs to Itachi. “Guess I was right and you were wrong. For once.”

Making light, even though his stomach is churning-Shisui’s come to the conclusion that this is his mechanism for coping with fear. Just as the placid look on Itachi’s face is his.

**..**

The rain starts to downpour that night, which is such a cliché that Shisui makes a face at the bottom of the bunk above him. _Great. ‘It was a dark and stormy night the night before the shinobi went off on their top-secret mission’…_ Please _don’t let that end up in the history books; no Academy kid’s going to take it seriously…_

A shadow appears in the door frame. Shisui jumps, heart pounding, and reaches for the kunai under his pillow before hearing the calm undertone.

“I am not here to assassinate you, Shisui.”

 _Dammit, Itachi,_ Shisui silently curses, replacing the knife. “Are you sure about that? Because I have a sneaking suspicion that you’re actually _trying_ to give me a heart attack.”

“I apologize,” Itachi replies as Shisui rolls out of bed and comes out into the hall. “But I have mentioned it before-it is not good that I can sneak up on you so easily.”

Shisui waves him off. “If it were anyone else, I would’ve gone all hi-yah on them; don’t worry. Like I said, you’re you.”

Itachi sighs. “And I do not,” he states, “ _worry_.”

“ _Sure_ you don’t.” Changing the subject before his friend can further argue the fact, Shisui asks, “So why is it that you’re wandering the corridors, lurking in doorways and almost giving half-asleep best friends panic attacks?”

“I have been finding myself somewhat…insomniac…since this war began,” Itachi replies quietly. Belatedly Shisui remembers the circles under his eyes that seem more pronounced with every passing day.

“I’ll join you in your little stroll, then,” he decides. “And pray you don’t wake up somebody who _will_ go all hi-yah on us.” Shisui pauses, considering. “And by ‘hi-yah’ I mean ‘kill us in the most brutal way possible before they realize we’re not the enemy’.”

“Thank you for the clarification.” Itachi sounds amused, at least. It’s a start.

It’s an odd and somewhat eerie feeling, wandering the base when it’s so devoid of any light or movement. Still, even before he stubs his toe on several objects and swears more loudly every time, Shisui wonders how many of their comrades are actually sleeping.

The walk, though lacking in conversation, does help Shisui discover something about himself: He has no night vision whatsoever. What’s more, he apparently turns into a klutz in the dark, as opposed to the terrifying Police Force veteran that he actually is. After he crashes into a wall corner for the third time in about half an hour, even Itachi can’t resist the urge to make a comment.

“It is strange, but I suddenly find myself forgetting how you graduated in the first place.”

“Oh, shut up,” Shisui responds irritably, rubbing his abused shoulder. “Just because _you_ were some kind of annoyingly graceful feline in another life…” He trails off and grins. “I just had a great idea, and it involves cat ears.”

Even in the blackness, he can sense-if not quite see-Itachi shaking his head.

After another thirty minutes spent walking (and, in Shisui’s case, bumping into things; albeit not so much now that his eyes have adjusted) in silence, Shisui starts to yawn. He attempts to cover it, but Itachi still notices. _Probably felt the damn air shift or something._

“You should sleep,” Itachi says quietly. “Tomorrow is…”

There is a short silence; both of them have been making a conscious effort not to think about what tomorrow is, what it might end up being. A funeral, a victory, a mass cremation, a crushing defeat, some kind of beginning, some kind of end (and no two are mutually exclusive)-there are too many possibilities. Far too much is unknown.

“Yeah,” Shisui eventually sighs. “I guess you’re right.” He doesn’t even bother to tell Itachi that he needs his sleep just as much; Itachi already knows that.

They head back to the sleeping quarters, conversation dead once again. Outside his door, Shisui hesitates and turns back towards his cousin. Itachi beats him to it-whatever ‘it’ was going to be.

“I’ve been wondering about something,” he says. “And I would like your opinion.”

Shisui raises an eyebrow. _This_ is _unusual. Itachi actually_ asking _for my opinion?_ “Uh…Shoot.”

“Do you think we are going to die?”

Itachi’s tone is still, as always, impeccably calm; it takes a minute for the words to sink in.

“…No,” he replies, more than a little bit unnerved. “Why do you ask?”

“I was simply curious as to your thoughts on the matter.” Itachi pauses. “Given the circumstances, it would be understandable if your answer had been yes. But you continue to retain your bizarre optimism.”

“Hey,” Shisui says defensively, “there’s nothing wrong with believing everything’ll turn out alright. That’s kept me sane more than once. And furthermore-”

“I never,” Itachi interrupts, raising an eyebrow, “said that optimism was a bad thing. I simply find it…unrealistic.”

“You don’t help anybody out by being Johnny Raincloud,” Shisui points out, ignoring the way Itachi’s other eyebrow goes up to join the first at the mention of the proverbial pessimist. “Least of all yourself. You should try being happy sometime.”

Itachi gives him a very strange look. “I am going to bed. Good night, Shisui.”

“’Night, Itachi. And do _try_ to get some sleep in, O Prodigal ANBU Captain; it’d be beyond embarrassing if you fell asleep during our top-secret mission.”

A man with less control over his emotions would’ve rolled his eyes impressively. As it is Itachi’s attempt not to do so is obvious, which makes Shisui smile because for a split-second he can pretend that everything is normal; that they are home, that their lives aren’t in any immediate danger, that there is no war.

**..**

He probably only got about three hours of sleep during the night, but when Shisui opens his eyes the next morning he is wide awake.

 _D-Day,_ he notes.

Everyone is unusually silent at breakfast. Nobody says it, but the thought on everyone’s mind is crystal clear regardless.

_We probably won’t be seeing you again._

It’s not exactly a cheering thought. Shisui, for his part, is determined to go into this feeling at least somewhat confident, and ignores said thought in favor of eating with (only slightly forced) good humor. Itachi is sitting to his right, almost unique in that he in an ANBU member eating with everyone else. His face betrays nothing, but Shisui happens to know that he spent the last hours before daylight discussing formal matters with his second in command, in case…

Shisui shakes his head, as if by doing so he can shake away any unwanted thoughts. Even if Itachi is determined to be pessimistic-or, as he puts it, “practical”-Shisui is still his elder, and therefore knows better. They are going to make it back alive. They are going to be smart and lucky and they are going to make it back alive.

He notices the ANBU man leading the mission-Yamato, he remembers-lingering in a corner of the room. As more people notice as well, those leaving today get the message and finish their food. Shisui shovels the last of his down his throat, which results in him choking and Itachi pounding on his back with an expert fist.

“Do try not to die by breakfast food,” the latter murmurs in his ear once the hacking has ceased. “It would be very embarrassing, not to mention detrimental to our image, if one of our best was killed by rice instead of enemy nin.”

While Shisui appreciates the attempted joke, he hears enough grimness in Itachi’s voice to know that his cousin has in no way changed his less-than-hopeful position on the day’s prospects.

Still, he knows Itachi isn’t going to change his opinion now, so he merely smirks and flicks the younger boy in the side of his head. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

He glances toward the corner where Yamato is lurking, and sees that most of their new squad-mates have already joined him. “Looks like we’re holding up production,” Shisui muses, standing up. Itachi follows suit.

“Take a good look around,” Shisui tells him sternly as they make their way over. “We’ll be back here soon enough.”

He chooses to ignore Itachi’s shake of the head, which is barely perceptible, but there nonetheless.

**..**

Their squad consists of twelve people-Yamato, four other ANBU operatives (including Itachi), three Police Force members (including Shisui), and four shinobi expert in Water jutsus. The idea, Shisui mentally summarizes after Yamato’s briefing, is to cross the border as if they are nothing more than another reconnaissance mission.

“The target has been hitting recon squads nine times out of ten,” Yamato explained. “It appears that Iwa is currently focusing their forces on the opposite border, which is being hammered courtesy of Waterfall. So they seem to be relying on this bomber-nin to keep their enemies from sneaking in the back while they’re otherwise occupied.”

“So we’re using ourselves as bait,” someone summed up.

“Essentially,” Yamato replied. “Water jutsu users, you will cloak yourselves with a camouflage genjutsu and follow in our tracks. When the target comes within striking distance, prepare yourselves to defuse whatever you can. Sharingan users, you will be at the forefront, checking for bombs and mines. Once we’ve sighted the target, position yourselves to surround him as best you can. He transports himself aerially-by way of some kind of large bird-so keep your heads up. When he lands, ANBU will distract him long enough for you to come within range and trap him in an illusion. Your window of opportunity will be very small, so move quickly.”

The details were finalized quickly, all questions answered. Everyone understands what their role in this mission is to be.

Shisui can’t help noticing one thing, however.

 _We_ are _using ourselves as bait. We have it from our commander’s own mouth._

 _How well,_ he muses, _do things ever work out for the bait?_

But that isn’t a helpful thought at all, so he pushes it away.

**..**

They’ve been moving for some time-Shisui lost track somewhere around four hours-without speaking or stopping. The terrain is getting steadily rockier, meaning they’re coming up on Iwagakure territory. Shisui utilizes his newfound skill of selective denial to ignore his stomach, which has begun doing a series of bizarre flips and other gymnastic-type things. The easy part is over. Now it’s just a matter of watching and waiting.

They don’t wait long. (Which is a relief in its own way, he supposes.)

The first hidden mines are sensed just over the border, as expected. Everyone watches their steps, making no unnecessary movement. Shisui’s heart feels like it is split in two, as if half of it now resides in his throat while the other half sits in his ear, thumping merrily away. (He’s come to the conclusion that his anatomy rearranges itself under high amounts of stress-a medical miracle, to be sure; if he gets killed, the medical nin doing the autopsy will have a field day.)

_We’re getting close, then._

One of the kunoichi up front starts making quick hand signals. _Target sighted. Target is sighted._

Yamato nods, and those possessing the Sharingan spread out as planned, trying for the best possible position with which to surround the man when he lands. _If_ he lands, Shisui silently corrects himself. If not, they’ve prepared chakra-infused ropes and nets and the like, but things will be much easier if they’re attempting capture at ground level.

( _But not one damn thing is ever easy, is it?_ )

A massive creature flies over their heads, its shadow blocking out the sun. The light returns quickly, leaving the shinobi on the ground perfectly capable of seeing the rain of small objects falling in the bird’s wake.

 _No prizes for guessing what those are,_ Shisui notes, darting for cover along with everyone else. The little bombs explode on contact, but no one is injured. Shisui would be relieved if he thought that this was the best the man could do. As it is, he watches Itachi-who is scanning the skies with his Sharingan-and waits for the result.

“He’s coming around,” Itachi informs them, calm as you please. _He could just as easily be telling us it’s going to rain,_ Shisui thinks, fighting down a sudden urge to strangle his friend for seeming so relaxed. Because there isn’t time for that right now; the giant thing is indeed coming back around, and this time he can make out a small figure standing on its back.

As the enemy gets closer, Shisui hears a police kunoichi mutter a disbelieving “The hell?” Sometime in the next few seconds Shisui finds himself wholeheartedly agreeing with that statement.

The bomber is riding a dragon.

He doesn’t even have an opportunity to rub his eyes and/or mourn the official loss of whatever sanity he retained. The bomber is a good fifty or so feet above them now, and they can hear him laughing.

“You never learn, _hmm_?” he drawls. “How do you like my C2 Dragon?”

Shisui looks harder at the thing. Now that it’s closer, he can see that it’s not a “real” animal of any kind-there are faint seams here and there and the eyes are hollow. _So it isn’t alive. Then what the hell is it?_

The dragon’s mouth opens, effectively derailing Shisui’s train of thought in favor of focusing his attentions on the possibility of imminent death. Sure enough, a large white shape begins protruding from the thing’s gaping jaws. As it comes out further, Shisui can see that it is a smaller version of the dragon-and ‘smaller’, in this case, is still larger than any of the shinobi present.

“True art,” the enemy is saying with unconcealed relish, “is an explosion. Allow me to demonstrate, _hmm_?”

The smaller dragon is launched suddenly from the larger one’s mouth, darting towards the Leaf ninja with incredible speed. Less than an inch from the ground it makes a sharp turn and keeps zooming straight.

 _A tracking missile_ , Shisui realizes. _He has tracking missiles._

And the intended target, it appears, is Yamato.

The ANBU captain is doing his best to crash the thing into something-anything-but it’s too fast. Suddenly Yamato stops in his tracks, turns, and starts making hand signs.

There’s a deafening explosion.

_Oh, sh-_

The mental expletive isn’t even fully formed when the dust clears and Yamato emerges, bruised and covered in dust but unhurt. The remains of a huge tree-a tree which Shisui is reasonably sure wasn’t there five seconds ago-lie burning and shattered in his wake.

There isn’t any time to ask. The dragon’s mouth has opened again and is firing more missiles at them.

_Apparently we pissed him off._

There is an organized kind of frenzy as shinobi run and dive and dodge to avoid getting blown up. Every one of them has a missile on their tail now, including Shisui.

 _Wonder who’s faster,_ he muses dimly, eyeing the projectile coming at him from overhead.

He waits until he can see inside the bomb sculpture’s empty eyes, vaguely hoping this isn’t the experiment that will cost him his life, and-

_Shunshin._

-he’s eight feet away and watching the explosion intended for his head take out its nonexistent frustration on the ground instead.

He grins-a brief flicker on its own-as other foiled explosives form craters in the dirt and stone.

The grin dies fast as, moments later, he sees one of them hit its mark.

**..**

One of the water users is dead. The police kunoichi who’d been so vocal about her dismay at the dragon’s appearance is dead also, leaving their numbers at ten. The only current upside seems to be that the bomber has run out of missiles.

Glancing sideways, Shisui sees another one of the water users muttering something to Yamato. _Hopefully about using a net,_ he thinks, _because it does not look like this bastard’s coming down anytime soon._

Yamato nods and motions to the other remaining jutsu experts, who begin spreading out again. He then motions to the others, the message being, back off.

Shisui obeys and backs away, looking around for Itachi. He exhales when he sees the younger boy standing behind Yamato, eyes still scarlet, vigilant. He catches Shisui’s eye and gives the tiniest of nods, which Shisui returns.

_Right. Status: not dead. That’s the best we can do._

The somehow less than reassuring thought is cut off by the sound of cracking. Startled, Shisui looks for the source of the sound and sees the three remaining users of Water jutsu with their hands flat on the ground, which is now cracking open. Without warning, three tidal waves of water gush out of the cracks and up towards the Iwa nin’s dragon. Which, upon contact, promptly…

_Melts?_

After copious amounts of blinking he concludes that yes, his eyesight is still intact. The dragon is actually melting, oozing out of existence like some kind of clay, falling to earth in crushing glops. And the bomber is falling with it.

 _That’s it then,_ he realizes. _There’s_ _no way any human can survive a fall to solid ground from that height. The councilors’ll be pissed, but it was unavoidable._

With that decided, Shisui relaxes slightly and prepares to enjoy the sight of the biggest thorn in Konoha’s side crashing into the dirt.

It’s about then that the giant bird-considerably smaller than the dragon, but still-swoops in out of nowhere and catches the would-be bomb-loving pancake while he’s still a good ten feet away from the ground.

_…Because that’s just the kind of day it’s been._

“None of you have any appreciation for art, _hmm_?” the bomber snaps, having caught his wind. “Try this on for size!”

 He drops something, the shape of which Shisui can’t make out, but it doesn’t take a genius to realize what it is. Especially once he hears the bomber’s next word:

“ _Katsu_!”

_Detonate._

_Shit._

**..**

For the second time in almost as many minutes, the Shunshin saves his life. Granted, it also gives him a concussion, seeing as he tries to use it while backing up and ends up smashing his head into the rocky ground; but nauseating pain in his head aside, he’s been in worse shape.

He doesn’t know yet if the same can be said of anyone else. The explosion had both speed and range; the heat wave that broke through Shisui’s pain-induced haze, even at his newly sizable distance, said that anybody who hadn’t gotten moving immediately is likely a pile of ash now. And seeing _anyone_ -friend or foe-is impossible at this point, due to all the dirt and debris.

Shisui feels sick, and the pain has nothing to do with it. Itachi is a prodigy, yes, but Jesus-he’d have to have either flown or buried himself to escape that blast. And that doesn’t bode well for any of their squadmates, either.

So when a blessedly familiar voice comes from behind a few seconds later, it isn’t a moment too soon.

“Perhaps you would do better to make the Shunshin less self-destructive.”

Shisui whips around and, squinting, can make out his friend’s shape. His face comes into focus as the dust slowly begins to clear, along with his legs, which are soaked with blood.

Relief is quickly doused with concern. “What the hell did you do to your legs? Those don’t look like burn wounds.”

“They aren’t,” Itachi replies. “They are the result of using _your_ prized technique which, as I said, could do with a few modifications.”

“The Shunshin? But-” Shisui winces as the answer hits him. “You copied it?”

Itachi nods. “I’ve seen you use it so many times over the years; I watched it with the Sharingan once or twice, just in case. I never really put it into practice, however, hence-” He gestures toward his shredded limbs. “Clearly I need more practice.”

“Clearly,” Shisui replies. “Well, it saved your life. That’s all that matters.” His tone turns grim. “Do you think any of the others made it?”

“I…am unaware of any special techniques our squadmates may have had access to; therefore I can’t come to a concrete conclusion, but…” Itachi sighs. “The bomb went off very quickly and spread very far, as you can see. And I can’t sense any other human chakra in the area, save for that of our opponent. My educated guess would have to be no.”

Shisui swallows hard. “Damn. _Damn_.”

“The question we face now is how to handle the situation. Our circumstances have obviously changed; at this point, the odds of capturing the target alive are next to nothing.”

“And retreat isn’t an option,” Shisui puts in, “because this guy’s too frickin’ fast and would have our asses barbequed before we could get ten feet.”

“Crudely worded,” Itachi remarks, “but accurate. And hiding isn’t likely to work either, because his personality suggests that he would simply flatten the area until he found our bodies.”

Shisui suppresses a mad urge to make another flippant comment, something along the lines of “Well, he does seem like the ‘I’m just here to blow shit up’ type”. Because he know that will result in Itachi staring at him in that way he has, that way that suggests without saying anything that you are the single most idiotic specimen he’s ever come across, and just what did he do in a past life to get stuck with you in a life-or-death situation?

And no matter how many stupid cracks he comes up with or how calm Itachi seems, this _is_ a life-or-death situation.

“He hasn’t moved,” Itachi is saying. “His chakra’s in the same place that it was when the bomb dropped. But something is…off.”

“Off?”

“Activate your Sharingan.”

Shisui does, and then he sees what Itachi’s talking about. The bomber’s chakra is jumping around inside his body like a collection of excitable insects sensing their chance to escape a jar.

_I think it’s probably safe to assume that that isn’t good._

Without warning, the bird’s altitude begins to drop. None too slowly, it heads for earth and crashes.

Shisui glances at Itachi, who nods. Cautiously, they head forward.

A handful of feet away it becomes clear that yes, the bomber dying due to loss of giant bird control was too much to hope for. He is in one piece (the same can’t be said for the bird) and smirking. Up close, Shisui is shocked to see that the man who’s been giving them so much trouble is, in fact-

“A _kid_? You’ve got to be shitting me!” He turns to Itachi, outraged. “He’s smaller than you!”

“Shut your mouth,” aforementioned “kid” snaps, eyes narrowing. “Kid or not, I’m the one who’s going to destroy you and your entire base, _hmm_?”

“Entire-? And how, _kiddo_ , do you plan on accomplishing that?” _This day is getting more friggin’ ridiculous by the m-_

But that thought dies as the boy smirks, a completely remorseless and insane smirk.

“It’s actually pretty damn easy,” he hisses.

And then his body begins to expand.

Shisui catches himself gaping slightly as the blond nightmare puffs up like a balloon. In a matter of seconds he’s already taller than either Uchiha.

“C4: Karura!” he announces, every word dripping with deranged self-satisfaction. “In another two minutes, this body’ll rupture. The explosion isn’t the main event though; it’s small enough to make sure you’re alive for what comes next, _hmm_? The second I’m gone, a cloud of microbombs will be released. Once you breathe them in they enter your bloodstream and explode, causing your body to disintegrate!” He starts to laugh. “Not bad for a kid, _hmm_?”

Shisui feels the blood drain from his face. When he turns to Itachi, he sees that he’s not alone in that regard.

“His body is full of them,” Itachi says quietly. “Countless microscopic bombs.”

“Why would he _do_ this? Why the hell would he kill himself over two ninja?”

“For one thing, he is a clone.”

“ _What_?” Focusing, looking past all of the distractingly energetic chakra, Shisui can see that he’s right. He swears. “Fantastic. And what’s the other reason?”

“It won’t just be us he’s killing.”

“…What?”

“Shisui,” Itachi says tightly, “think about it. Our base-the main center of operations near the border-is less than a mile away. Normally, in a battle situation, most of the microorganisms would be inhaled by the shinobi present-recall that no squad under twelve people has gone against this man. Any that weren’t inhaled wouldn’t be strong enough on their own to kill a human. But with only the two of us, there will be plenty left over to drift downwind and infect most, if not all, of those at base.”

“…Holy hell,” Shisui manages. “We’re completely screwed.”

Itachi doesn’t say anything in reply, and if Shisui needed any confirmation, then that was it.

Seconds pass in a horrifically slow kind of way; Shisui’s mind is working nonstop, refusing to accept the inevitable, still searching for some way out. Itachi still hasn’t deactivated his Sharingan, and is now-for some inexplicable reason-staring into the distance.

It soon becomes starkly clear that there is nothing at all to be done. Shisui can now officially attest that the myth of seeing your life flash before your eyes is just that-a myth. He can also attest that when facing imminent death, final words of an inspiring and lasting kind do not simply fall out of the sky and into one’s mind. Shisui has always been someone who says what he means to; so at this point, he realizes, there really is only one more thing he needs to say.

“Oi, Itachi.”

Itachi doesn’t turn around; in fact, he doesn’t appear to have heard. Shisui frowns, reaches over, grabs a hold of his friend’s ponytail for a second time and yanks.

Itachi flinches and turns.

“Shisui, I do not-”

“Just let me-”

“ _Shisui_ -”

“Just _listen to my last freaking words, dammit_!”

Itachi stops and looks at him as if he is deranged. And to be fair, Shisui _feels_ slightly deranged at this point.

He gathers what’s left of his shattered calm, inhales, and opens his mouth.

“I l-”

The rest of the statement is gone, muffled completely by a gloved hand.

Itachi is facing the ground. “Do not,” he says quietly, so quietly that Shisui can barely hear him, “say anything.”

Shisui smacks Itachi’s hand away from his mouth. “Why the hell not?” he demands. “Look, you can at the very least let me get it off my chest so that I don’t die with any regrets-”

“Shisui. Please.”

That shuts him up instantly.

“I do not want you to be quiet,” Itachi continues, still focused on the dirt, “because I don’t-” He stops, shakes his head, and skips over whatever was about to be said. “I want you to be quiet so that you do not compromise my resolve in any way.”

“…Resolve?” Shisui asks. A horrible thought is settling in his mind, turning his blood into ice water. “What do you-”

And that’s when three things happen in very quick succession:

Itachi raises his head, eyes vibrant red and staring into Shisui’s with determination;

Shisui realizes he literally can’t move, and-

_One of the Sharingan’s most vaunted powers is that of hypnosis._

-he also realizes that Itachi is going to destroy him for real this time.

From the inside out.

“I’ve been scanning the surrounding areas for the real bomber’s chakra since figuring out that this one was a clone.” Itachi is speaking quickly, no doubt knowing that there isn’t much time left. “I’m going to send you to the northeast; there is a forest there. Use your Sharingan to pinpoint his location more specifically once you get there. I am sorry that this is the best I can do.”

“LET ME GO!”

The words come out a savage, screeching sound; Shisui was anticipating a struggle against his sudden paralysis, but apparently his mouth and vocal cords have been left alone.

“No,” Itachi responds, back to being infuriatingly calm.

“ _No_?” Now Shisui truly feels deranged; if Itachi goes through with this he’s going to crack open like a dropped egg.

“ _No_?! What the hell do you mean, _no_? What can you do, Itachi? Tell me! _What can you do alone_?!”

“ _Kage Bunshin no Jutsu_ ,” is the placid reply. “Shadow Clones. It’s a forbidden technique; meaning, of course, that high-ranking ANBU have access to it. They are like normal clones, but they are more than illusions. They are true copies of the original-in this case, me. I will make enough copies to surround the bomber-and a few extra, as some will undoubtedly be lost to the blast-and inhale the microbombs.” He looks Shisui in the eye, hard. “This way, only one person dies. It only makes sense.”

“Makes sense?” Desperation is starting to settle in now; they have only seconds, and Itachi is dead set on doing this. “None of this makes sense! Itachi, listen to me, you don’t have to do this! You and your damn martyr complex-you don’t have to do this, you don’t owe us anything-”

“Don’t I?” Itachi asks, one corner of his mouth twisting up in that little half-smile that Shisui loves so much, and then he remembers.

Squad 12.

And his own words, stupid, _tactless_ -

_You owe it to your comrades-dead and alive-to do what you can to make that time come faster._

_No, no, no, this is_ not _what I meant-_

“This is my duty to them,” Itachi says, an air of finality in the words. “And to my village, and to Sasuke, and to you. If I can do something to end this nightmare even a little faster, then it is worth dying for. And I am counting on you to finish the job and get rid of the source.”

Hot tears are sliding down Shisui’s face, born out of equal parts fury and helplessness. “You _bastard_ , don’t you dare-”

“You told me before that I should ‘try being happy sometime’,” Itachi interrupts. “I will admit that that caught me off-guard, because I thought you knew.”

“Knew,” Shisui snaps, “ _what_?”

“That I have always been happy with you.”

The time for worrying about sounding painfully sappy for fear of embarrassment is so far gone, Shisui can barely remember it existing anymore. That was a time when he was _stupid_ and _naïve_ enough to think that they could just walk away from this without a scratch.

“Enjoy the explosion,” a young man’s voice yells, reminding both of them where they are (because, for a fraction of a second, both of them _have_ forgotten).

Apparently snapped back to his senses, Itachi widens his eyes and focuses them on Shisui’s once more. Which brings that panic back in full, along with a suddenly monstrous wave of anger that injects venom into every one of Shisui’s next words.

“I will never fucking forgive you if you do this.”

And Itachi smiles, sadly.

**..**

The thought enters his mind, slippery, unbidden; it is not his own, but quickly becomes so.

_Use the Shunshin. Go northeast._

_No, I can’t leave, I_ will not _leave-_

 **Go**.

He is gone.

**..**

Now he is in a forest, and the shade is refreshing and for a second he doesn’t remember why he’s here or how he arrived.

Then the sound of an explosion hits his ears, scaring the birds from their perches and dropping the ground out of his world.

“ITACHI!”

Silence, he knows, will be the only answer. And he is partially right; but the ringing silence is accompanied by something else, something recorded in his subconscious that lends more weight to the argument that he is losing-or has just lost-his mind.

A sound he heard when the war began. Back then it was only a crack in the world, something that could possibly be patched or fixed. But the crack has opened up now. Something has broken, and so, behind the silence, Shisui can hear the sound of shattering.

Just like that time right after Fugaku’s announcement, he doesn’t realize he’s crying until a faint breeze chills the wetness on his cheeks. As it drips off of his skin, he sees that it’s red.

His eyes are bleeding, evidently, but he can’t bring himself to even consider being concerned.

More than anything he wants to go back, he wants to look for the body of his best friend, the boy he always loved; even knowing, logically, that with microbombs there is no body left behind-only a pile of dust. He wants to go back to the border and scream his guts out; he wants to _cross_ the border and throttle Iwa’s village head with his bare hands, _make_ the war end there-

But those are choices for another time, because a strange yet familiar chakra signature has just entered the clearing.

“Well, what do you know. One rat escaped the trap, _hmm_?”

Shisui does not turn around.

“So what will you do now?” the bomber-nin presses, undeterred. “You know you’re standing on top of the biggest stash of explosives ever assembled in wartime-an entire year’s worth of my work, hidden right under your feet, _hmm_? I could summon one of my birds, get out of range and blow you out of existence in seconds.”

He doesn’t turn, doesn’t move, doesn’t react.

“Well?”

And suddenly he knows what he’s going to do.

Using the Shunshin while stepping backwards is easier the second time around. As it is, the enemy has no warning at all. One second he is looking at Shisui’s back from eight feet away, and the next his opponent is standing right behind him, eyes burning with rage dulled only little by grief.

Shisui’s red-black eyes meet flashing blue ones; his mind takes over and then they are in a world of endless time and inverted color. The bomber is strapped to a pole and a dead man’s katana is in Shisui’s hand, glinting black in nonexistent moonlight.

His consciousness shuts down. For the next 72 hours, he listens to a teenager scream.

**..**

“…one’s alive, see?”

His eyes ache painfully behind closed lids; he knows opening them will be agony, and doesn’t do it. The sound of people talking swims in and out of his realm of understanding.

“The blond’s been dead for days,” the rough old voice says, sighing. “This war’s taken too many good boys.”

“And girls,” a reproachful female voice adds.

“Too many children,” the man compromises. “Just…too damn many children.”

It’s the last thing Shisui hears before falling into blackness again.

**..**

The loss of their best fighter ends Iwagakure’s run as a deciding factor in the war. With the bomber-nin gone they are forced to take fighters from their own frontlines to defend the border, which results in their offensive forces being pushed back more every week. With this, the tide turns-subtly, at first, but more clearly as time passes.

Nearly two months after the battle at Iwa’s border, the shocking news of a revolt comes to Konoha and its allies.

Sand has been having internal problems for years, problems they no doubt hoped would be resolved once Leaf fell and gave them a chance to expand both their space and their income. Konoha’s recent victories, however, have crushed the faith of many dissidents that such a time will ever come, and those dissidents have finally rebelled against their central government.

Unable to continue fighting a war with half the shinobi world as well as its own people, Suna surrenders. By extension, the alliance it began collapses in on itself, signaling the end of the Fourth Great Ninja War.

During this time, Shisui and the body of the bomber are returned to the base by the wanderers who found them (and quickly depart afterwards).

When he wakes up, there is a bandage over his eyes again.

The next few hours are spent reciting every detail of the failed mission to his superiors in a flat, dead tone.

After, when all but one of the others have left, he learns of something called the Mangekyo.

“It would have activated when Itachi…”

Inabi, Shisui notices, is the only one who hesitates at using Itachi’s name. Everyone else considers it just one more casualty on an endless list-Itachi is a large blow, yes; as is Yamato, as are the others that fought and died with them. But Inabi still pauses.

“Well,” he finally continues, “it would have activated then. Sounds to me like you used the Tsukiyomi, the Nightmare Realm. That drains you, Shisui. And then you passed out and left the damn thing going for days on end.” He sighs. “Look, this isn’t exactly a normal technique, but I did talk to some vets after I got mine.” Courtesy of Tekka. “If you use this thing too much, it drains your sight as well as your chakra. And you aren’t a blood Uchiha, so your body can’t handle the strain for nearly as long.”

“You’re saying I’m blind?” Shisui asks dully.

“Not yet. But you’re getting there.” Another pause. “I’m sorry, Shisui.”

The deterioration of his eyesight keeps Shisui off of the battlefields for the last months before the war’s end. Which he vaguely resents, because it leaves him nothing to do but wander the base, outwardly indifferent and inwardly screaming.

_What would have changed it?_

_What could I have said to make things end differently?_

_What if I’d said no, back when he asked me to look after Sasuke? Told him that it was_ his _baby brother, goddamnit, and Sasuke worshipped him, not me? That Sasuke needs his_ real _brother?_

What about “I love you”? Would it have changed anything if he’d said it out loud?

**..**

The war ends and all Shisui can think about is Sasuke’s face when he tells him his beloved big brother is dead.

**..**

Konoha doesn’t feel like home anymore.

It’s strangely disappointing. The never ending greenery that he’d loved about the place when they first left Whirlpool; the stalls and shops selling whatever interesting new thing was available; the rushing, glittering water of the Nakano-all of it feels cold and distant now. Maybe because the boy who was glued to his side when he was a child and discovering all these things for the first time is gone now, leaving Shisui completely lost in his own village.

The memorial service for the people who died in the war-shinobi and civilians alike-is attended by every single citizen of Konoha. Even those who haven’t lost anyone (a rarity, to be sure), even those so badly injured they can’t get out of bed on their own-everyone comes to pay their respects to those who kept them safe.

The line of memorial stones goes on and on. Sasuke has already gotten to Itachi’s by the time Shisui arrives at it.

Upon noticing his cousin, Sasuke glares. His expression has nothing written on it other than pure, undiluted hatred. It’s a strange thing, seeing that look on the face of this small, not-quite-eleven-years-old boy who was a complete wreck already by the time Shisui got to the clan head’s home-rumor, it seems, travels faster than even the Shunshin. At that time, he’d taken a few moments to figure out who it was through a waterfall of tears and then slammed the door in Shisui’s face. Then and now, Sasuke’s thoughts aren’t said, but are still as clear as they would be if he shouted them:

 _Why did_ you _come back?_

While Sasuke’s complete loathing of him may or may not last-they are still family, after all-Shisui’s pretty sure that the boy will never entirely forgive him for coming home without Itachi.

And Shisui, who’s pretty sure he’ll never forgive himself either, thinks this is only fair.

He glances at the memorial stone’s platform, which is already covered in flowers (he sees dahlias and knows Mikoto’s been here already). He has none to offer; nothing at all, really, to offer.

It’s the Leaf symbol carved into the top of every stone that gives him the idea. Itachi’s hitayate, the visible proof of his loyalty to Konoha, was never recovered. So Shisui unties his own headband and lays it carefully on the little platform.

It’s a purely symbolic move, he knows; anybody who knew Itachi knew that he was the most loyal shinobi Konoha was ever fortunate enough to have and didn’t need any physical proof.

But this seems right. He isn’t sure why but he knows, moving down the line, that this is the last and best offering he can give his friend.

**..**

He hasn’t been back two days when the Elders call him in for a reprimand.

“Uchiha Shisui,” Danzo says, tone heavy with disapproval. “Your orders upon leaving for the Iwagakure border with your squad were to capture the bomber-nin Deidara of Iwagakure alive.”

Shisui stays silent.

“And yet, once you had the target alone and incapacitated him…you killed him.”

Saying that he hadn’t meant it to go so far would imply that he is remorseful-which he isn’t, at least not about the blond kid, Deidara. So Shisui still says nothing.

“Explain yourself,” Koharu orders, scowling.

“What do you want me to explain?” Shisui asks flatly. “Danzo has it right.”

Koharu opens her mouth again, no doubt to rip into him for the blatant lack of honorific, but Danzo gives her a look that silences her.

“So you knowingly disobeyed orders from the highest authority in Konohagakure,” he says, focusing his attention once more on Shisui. “Why?”

“Because he destroyed my squad.”

“That is the answer we expect, Uchiha Shisui, but it is not the truthful one in this case. _Why did you kill him_?”

“You know why,” Shisui replies, eyes narrowing. “Because he killed Itachi.”

“And that prompted you to spit on the authority of your village?”

“Yeah, I guess it did.”

“How _dare_ -!”

“ _Koharu_ ,” Danzo says warningly.

“Shisui-kun,” Homura steps in. “According to the mission report you gave, it was Itachi-san who initiated this plan in the first place. You share the blame with him.”

Shisui stiffens. “Itachi never told me to kill him,” he says, fighting a losing battle to keep his voice calm. “He wanted me to finish the mission as ordered. I spat on that, too.”

“Itachi-san,” Danzo states, “should have accompanied you and helped you to capture Deidara alive, so that we could interrogate him, instead of wasting his life on a mere copy.”

“If Itachi hadn’t stayed,” Shisui says coldly, “everyone at our base could have died.”

“A reasonable trade.”

For a few seconds, he actually forgets to breathe.

“Are you telling me,” he hisses once he’s regained the ability, “that you would have had him sacrifice all those people just to bring one bastard back alive?”

“Absolutely,” Danzo replies with conviction.

There is a short, tense silence.

Then Shisui stands up.

“You can all go to hell,” he tells them in a voice quavering with anger.

Danzo’s face goes white. “You dare to-”

“You’re damn right I dare-”

“Shisui-kun! You have a duty to this village and to your dead friend to keep fighting for peace.”

Shisui looks at Homura then, and activates the Mangekyo.

“I’m going blind,” he says quietly. “I give it another two months-maybe-before I can’t see anything anymore. One way or another, my time as a shinobi is finished.”

He blinks, and his eyes are dark gray again. “And it’s just as well. I’ve had enough of the ninja world.” A world that lets war scar children so badly they can’t sleep for months; a world that _starts_ wars for politics and power and sends kids out to die; a world where those in power would gladly sacrifice a base full of people to interrogate a single man.

A world that makes a mockery out of Itachi’s dream of peace.

Shisui turns and leaves. The Elders don’t stop him.

**..**

Time passes, as it always does.

Once the peace treaty is finalized, those in power begin asking for volunteers to go out and help rebuild. Almost no place has ended the war unscathed, but Iwa is in a particularly bad state.

Shisui is one of the first to sign up.

“Soon I won’t be able to fight for people anymore,” he explains to Uruchi. “I need to do what I can while I can still…” He gestures to his eyes and his mother nods.

So he leaves once more for the Village Hidden in the Rocks, and over the next month and a half he works hard to help rebuild homes and Academies and medical centers. He helps repave roads and even helps out the medical-nin once in a while.

It occurs to him, more than once, that they are doing more good now than they ever did during the war.

Eventually his eyesight darkens to the point where he can see only pinpoints of anything, and he is sent back to Konoha for the last time.

The village still doesn’t feel the same-he doubts it ever will-but things have gotten slightly better in the time he’s been gone. It doesn’t feel sacrilegious to smile in public anymore, Teyaki tells him.

He makes an effort to visit Sasuke as much as he can. They never speak, never really look at each other. If nothing else, they can understand each other’s pain. Occasionally Shisui wonders if Sasuke has stopped looking at him with hatred, if he’ll ever stop.

He can feel his mother watching him constantly, feel the fear in her gaze. Shisui’s never been a believer in suicide, but Uruchi seems determined to worry, so at some point he just gives in and lets her.

He spends a lot of time at the Nakano, listening to the water, sometimes pretending-just for a second-that there is someone sitting next to him, rolling his eyes discreetly or making some dry, condescending comment. He reaches for a long ponytail out of habit and the illusion always shatters.

**..**

Once every so often, he finds himself at Inabi’s in the middle of the night.

The older man always seems to know, because he’s always awake. Or maybe war just makes insomnia a habit for every surviving soldier.

Inabi sits down at the table; Shisui, feeling around, finds that he’s already set out an extra chair.

“When are you going to teach me how to use those psychic powers of yours?” he tries to joke. Inabi doesn’t laugh. Shisui isn’t sure if that’s because Inabi inherited the Uchiha stick-in-the-mud gene, or because since the war his jokes haven’t been all that funny.

“This is the last time,” he says, sobering.

“You say that every time,” Inabi replies dryly; Shisui can barely make out a roll of the eyes.

“No, I mean it this time. I don’t want to make you waste your sight. And besides…” Shisui shrugs. “Pretty soon I won’t be able to see a thing. No eyesight, no possibility of you Mangekyoing me. This is…it.”

After a few seconds, Inabi nods. “Are you ready, then?”

Shisui settles down in the wooden chair. “Yeah.”

Inabi’s eyes open red, bled over with sharp black.

“Mangekyo Sharingan,” he murmurs, and the physical world melts away.

**..**

_“This isn’t healthy, Shisui.”_

_Shisui glances around. It’s the same scene-the riverbank, the breeze, the sounds of the woods._

_“Yeah, well,” he sighs, turning to face the boy sitting next to him. Inabi knows his shit. Itachi is perfect, from his eyelashes (read: painfully girly, as Shisui always took pleasure in pointing out) to the length of his hair._

_Speaking of hair…_

_Shisui reaches for the ponytail, as always, and twirls it idly in his fingers._

_“I won’t be able to see you anymore after this.”_

_Itachi nods._

_“I miss you like hell.” His eyes and throat burn ferociously. “I’m going to_ keep _missing you like hell.”_

_There’s a sigh. “I miss you as well. But this is for the best. You are still alive. I am…not.” He hesitates. “Shisui…I do not want you to tear yourself apart. You can’t blame yourself for not bringing me back. I chose what I chose, and there was nothing you could do about it.”_

_“I know,” Shisui croaks. He clears his throat. “Logically, I know that. I just need to…”_

_“You need to mourn. That’s understandable. But you may not,” he says firmly, “waste your life away. Find something you love and focus on it.”_

_“I loved you.”_

_It’s the first time he’s said it here, and he half-expects Itachi to stay silent. And yet-_

_“I loved you as well, Shisui.”_

_Which is enough to make Shisui grin like an idiot, yank Itachi forward and crush their lips together. It’s enough to make him forget, for a short time, that this is the end._

_When they break apart for air, foreheads resting against each other, Shisui can tell that time is almost up. He straightens, looks Itachi in the eye and tells him warningly, “You had better wait for me.”_

_And once more the only thing that keeps Shisui from screaming or tearing his hair out or following, consequences be damned, is that reply. Four simple words._

_“Then I will wait.”_

_And they smile._

**..**

**End**


End file.
